For as long as I could remember, my older sister had wanted a goat. Why she wanted a goat I never quite understood, but she finally got one, two in fact, because she convinced my parents a single goat living in the lean-too at the back of our barn would be lonely. She received them as kids, and each day saw her more enamored as they pranced, butted, leapt, and bleated their way into her heart. She rose early each morning to care for them and grew gravely concerned when the nights turned cold.

During summer days she staked them outside, where they grazed on the wild brougham and dandelions that grew around our farm. Their lives saw my sister grow from a child to a young girl.

One cool morning she staked them under some old cottonwoods, but was reduced to tears when she returned that afternoon. The oldest goat, Nanny, had collapsed, and my sister was unable to get her up again. She found my father, who told her age was the culprit. He said if the goat wasn’t on her feet by that evening he’d have no choice but to put her down. With her eyes puffy and red, she came to me, her younger brother, for help. I promised to find a way.

We searched until we found an old cart behind the shed, and pulled it to where the goat lie. Next, we located an old burlap sack on the floor of the granary, and worked it underneath her. By tipping the lip of the cart to the ground and pulling the burlap sack, we were able to slide the goat onto the cart. By the time my father arrived with his gun that evening Nanny was safely back in the barn. But it didn’t matter.

Despite my sister doting on her for the next two days, hand feeding her slices of apples and carrots, she died anyway. We spent most of the next week in the barn, comforting and drawing comfort from the remaining goat, promising to be there for her in her time of need.

I’m not certain how long we kept our promise. While our intentions were good, my sister was at an age where she was beginning to be noticed by boys, an understandable distraction. As for me, I was preoccupied with thoughts of passing years and the inevitability of death for the first time in my life. It instilled a melancholy that’s been with me ever since. I don’t know why.